


Awakening

by AirgiodSLV



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 14:20:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30073560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: “It’s nearly autumn. This apartment knows how much I like the changing seasons.” When Alec looks up, questioning, Magnus picks up his mug and taps it thoughtfully. “We’ve been together for a while now. My magic has touched every corner of this place, many times over. When you live and work together that closely, some of that magic tends to rub off. Warlocks are highly particular about their lairs.”(or, in which Alec is also quite magical.)
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Comments: 48
Kudos: 257





	Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> This grew from several seeds, but one of them was almost certainly the incredible [and i will be your shade](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14093763) by beatperfume, which reminded me that I was allowed to write about magic.
> 
> Set post-S3, before the epilogue. Thank you to Freitzeit for beta reading and encouragement.

When Magnus wakes, the curtains are glowing with mid-morning sun and autumn is in the air, the faintest bite of oncoming chill making the blankets feel cozy and welcoming. He blinks gradually into awareness to see Alec still deeply asleep on the other side of the bed, curled toward Magnus with one hand stretched out between them, like he’s been reassuring himself that Magnus is there.

Magnus had woken briefly when Alec had come in just before dawn, exhausted and smelling of the antiseptic soap at the Institute, which means he’d probably been covered in ichor and wanted to scrub himself clean before coming home. Magnus checks the clock and calculates that Alec’s been out for less than five hours, so he stealthily turns off the alarm on Alec’s phone and slips out of bed as quietly as he can. If there’s something important that Alec needs to be up for, his internal clock will wake him; otherwise Magnus is inclined to let him sleep.

He doesn’t have anything pressing on his own calendar this morning, which means he can attend to some housekeeping in his workroom before breakfast. Most of the plants in his herb garden won’t feel the cold enough for it to matter, but he moves a heat lamp next to the row of tiny rue seedlings, and harvests a few leaves from the potted tulsi plant while he’s there and thinking about it. He preserves the leaves for later use, apart from the two that find their way into his morning tea, which he sips while checking on the various other living things growing under his care.

The ignis salamander eggs are his primary concern. He has a mass of them wrapped around a sturdy branch and submerged in a basin, and the water is on the cool side for creatures with a strong fire affinity. Once he finishes with everything else, he turns on the tap in the workroom and lets the water run hot, checking it occasionally while he catches up on bookkeeping. When the water turns scalding, he sets the basin on a stand in the sink and leaves the eggs to their steam bath.

He’s on his second cup of tea and thinking about toast when he notices there aren’t clouds of steam billowing up out of the sink anymore, and goes to investigate. The hot water always runs out eventually, of course, but he’d expected it to last longer than this. Frowning at the basin, he sticks his finger under the tap and finds it tepid, the steam already beginning to disperse. When he turns off the tap, he hears water running elsewhere, and follows the sound back to its source.

The bed is made up and Alec isn’t in it, but Magnus can hear humming from the master bath, so his whereabouts aren’t much of a mystery. When he opens the bathroom door, he’s immediately bathed in a white shroud of the steam that’s fogged up the mirror and filled the room.

“I see. You’re taking sides now,” Magnus announces to his apartment, and goes back to his workroom to retrieve the salamander eggs.

Alec looks understandably confused when he wipes dripping hair from his eyes to find Magnus nudging a basin with a branch sticking out of it into the shower with him, but he also doesn’t question it and moves out of the way to make room.

“Hey,” he says when Magnus straightens. “Good morning.”

Magnus closes the sliding door to keep the steam in around the eggs, and pokes his head around the other side of it to claim a kiss. “Good morning.”

He steals another kiss, because Alec is wet and naked and tastes of Magnus’ cinnamon-clove toothpaste, and when he pulls back with a pleased hum and slightly-damp hair, Alec is smiling.

“Should we be doing this in front of the children?” Alec asks, casting a look at the basin now sharing his shower.

“They’re too young to remember,” Magnus assures him, and sweeps his thumb across the water droplet clinging to the tip of Alec’s nose. “It was chilly this morning, and apparently you’re hogging all the hot water.”

“Sorry. Do you want me to leave it running?” Alec rinses off the few soapsuds still clinging to his skin, and Magnus watches appreciatively before Alec catches him at it and smiles again.

Magnus ducks out to fetch a towel, infusing just a little warmth into it before he offers it to Alec, who’s pulled back the sliding glass door just enough to step out of the shower and is doing a complicated dance trying to keep the steam in. “No need. This is really just a precaution, and they’ll be warm enough in here for a while.”

Alec makes a grateful noise when Magnus wraps the warm towel around him, and then they get distracted for a few minutes making out against the sink, until Magnus’ shirt is clinging to him in wet patches and the bathmat is soaked through where Alec is dripping on it.

“Tea and toast?” Magnus offers, extricating himself before they can get any more carried away. He wouldn’t mind if they did, but judging by the timing of Alec’s ‘coming home late’ call last night, he probably hasn’t eaten since lunch yesterday.

“Yeah, that would be great. I can cook something if you want.” Alec is usually in charge of breakfast foods, but Magnus waves him off this time and goes to see what they have in the pantry.

The kitchen is still somewhat new. It’s always been there, but Magnus had so rarely used it that for a while, the door had disappeared and the whole room had tucked itself away to make more space for the guest bedroom that Magnus had once vampire-proofed for Raphael.

When Alec had come along, the kitchen had begun making reappearances for shared cooking experiments and the occasional dinner party, and it’s now settled into the shape of something permanent. The appliances, Magnus had been pleased to see, are all much more modern than the 1950s fixtures he’d started out with, and the decor is an understated combination of chrome and exposed brick. It’s clearly Alec’s space more than his, which makes the apartment feel more like their home, together, and is partly why Magnus likes it so much.

Alec joins him at the counter just as Magnus is adding maple sausage to the plates of fruit, eggs, and avocado toast. “This looks more like brunch,” he notes, sliding onto the bar stool beside Magnus and reaching immediately for the mug of tea set out for him.

“It is after ten. And I thought you’d be hungry this morning. How did everything go last night?” Alec hadn’t sounded worried when he’d called, only tired, but he’d still been out hunting demons. The New York Institute has been short-handed for a few months now as Alec cycles out personnel who don’t meet his exacting standards and ideals, and brings new transfers up to speed on his unorthodox policies regarding downworld relations.

It’s meant a lot of late nights and additional staff training, but the patrols aren’t spread as thin as they might be, because the shadowhunters are no longer doing their work alone. It’s amazing what a little neighborly cooperation can accomplish.

“Took a while, but everything’s fine. I’d planned to go in this morning to file the reports, but someone turned off my alarm.” There’s no censure in Alec’s look, only wry teasing, which confirms Magnus’ guess that he hadn’t really needed to wake up early. “Which reminds me,” Alec continues, “did you change my ringtone again?”

Magnus has to stop to actually think about that. “No?” he hazards at last, with a questioning look. Alec wordlessly nudges Magnus’ phone toward him and digs into his breakfast. When Magnus dials and Alec’s phone lights up, he hears the tinny chorus of a pop song from a half-century ago. _’Oh ho ho it’s magic, you know…’_

Magnus laughs and only hangs up when the ringtone starts to repeat, shaking his head. “No, I don’t believe I’m the culprit this time, although I approve of their choice. Is it just for me?”

Alec shrugs. “I think so. It was only you yesterday, anyway. Probably Jace or Izzy.” He doesn’t sound entirely convinced, but lets it go easily, moving on to other topics. “Is it colder in here this morning? You mentioned earlier that it was chilly, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen a thermostat.”

“It’s nearly autumn. This apartment knows how much I like the changing seasons.” When Alec looks up, questioning, Magnus picks up his mug and taps it thoughtfully. “We’ve been together for a while now. My magic has touched every corner of this place, many times over. When you live and work together that closely, some of that magic tends to rub off. Warlocks are highly particular about their lairs.”

“I didn’t know.” Alec’s expression is open and unguarded, fascinated by this new insight into Magnus’ life. “Is that why you never get junk mail?”

“It’s also why I never run out of vermouth.” Magnus winks and Alec laughs, making their little kitchen oasis feel warmer and brighter with the sound.

“Hey, since you’ve mentioned it—would you be willing to come in and check on the core sometime, at the Institute? I know it’s not like the wards, and there isn’t anything wrong that I’ve noticed, but it couldn’t hurt, right?”

“How can I refuse? Especially when you’re so prompt in paying my bill. I can stop by tomorrow, if you’ll be around?” Magnus glances over Alec’s faded black jeans, knit socks, and loose green sweater. “Are you planning to go to the office today, or have you decided to stay home?”

Alec sighs and pushes his empty plate away. “I should go in later, at least for a while. I might just spend the afternoon catching up on paperwork. Date night tonight, if I can make it home early?”

“I’m looking forward to it.” Magnus pauses before asking, but Alec looks comfortable and relaxed, and part of Magnus wants to keep him that way, even if it means making compromises. “You could always work from home, if you wanted to. I’m sure I could turn one of the guest bedrooms into a study for you.”

He feels the air change after he says it, like the apartment is listening. Power starts to gather in Magnus’ spine, trickling down his arms to his fingertips. He’s aware of the room where Jace had stayed in a way he hasn’t been for a while, the shape and presence of it hovering at the edge of his senses, waiting to be transformed.

Alec hesitates, thinking it over, oblivious to the way Magnus and the apartment have shifted their focus to something specific, a place for _Alec_ , dark wood and leather and old books. Then he shakes his head. “No, but thanks,” he answers. “I think I’d rather keep work at the office, as much as I can, so when I’m here I can just enjoy being home with you.”

Magnus feels the pressure around him dissolve, the potential on the verge of manifesting into a desk, bookshelves, rugs, suddenly absent as if it had never been.

 _Well_ , Magnus thinks, blinking. _That’s interesting_.

☙

Magnus strolls into the New York Institute looking every inch the High Warlock of Brooklyn he technically no longer is. That’s still no reason not to look his best, and besides, he has a reputation to uphold. Every so often he likes to remind the shadowhunters that their boss has a husband every bit as influential and powerful as he is. He enjoys keeping people on their toes.

He’s feeling nostalgic today, so he has fresh streaks of magenta in his hair and glittering gold beneath his eyes. Everyone looks up as he passes, an expanding ripple of wide eyes and whispers, and Magnus has to resist the impulse to twirl as he heads toward the ops center. He sees Underhill clock the disturbance in the ranks and relax as soon as he sees it’s Magnus, nodding a greeting before he leaves in the direction of Alec’s office.

Magnus is enjoying this performance so much that he’s startled to be brought up short by a sweaty, determined-looking boy clutching a tablet in front of him like a physical shield.

“Welcome to the N- New York Institute,” he says, stammering a little while Magnus stares at him in surprise. “This area is for authorized personnel only, but if you’ll come with me I can assist you with a visitor’s badge in a very comfortable waiting area.”

“A badge,” Magnus echoes, marveling a little, both at Alec’s increasing leniency regarding outside visitors and the nerve of this weedy recruit. He looks as though he knows perfectly well what Magnus is capable of doing to him, and is nevertheless committed to his task.

“Yes sir. There’s a guest registry for you to sign in, and then we’ll take a pho- photograph for the identification badge. This should be worn at all times during your visit to ensure your safety at the Institute.” Fresh beads of sweat have broken out on the face of his courteous and nervous personal escort, and Magnus is just deciding how he wants to play this when Alec’s voice rings out from the walkway above.

“Mr. Lightwood-Bane.” The sound carries easily through the room, and Magnus would be interested in how pale the hapless security minion must currently be going, but his gaze is drawn to Alec like a magnet. There’s warmth in his eyes to match his tone, and he descends the stairs with command settled comfortably on his shoulders. “Thank you for coming.”

Magnus bites his tongue before he can say anything too inappropriate, because while he’s all for flirting in the workplace, they do have an audience. The crowd Magnus had gathered is now rapt in their attention, which Magnus suspects is what Alec had meant to accomplish.

“Is there a problem here?” Alec asks the boy clutching the tablet, with a hint of warning in his voice that suggests there had better not be.

“I was just going to get a badge,” Magnus purrs, and Alec breaks out in a grin.

“I think we can skip the formalities. I’ll sign you in on the way down to look at the core. Do you mind if I come along? I haven’t been down there in a while.” Alec hadn’t mentioned wanting to accompany him, but Magnus guesses it’s not about making any kind of statement and more about wanting to get away from his desk for a few minutes. Since he’ll be spending those minutes with Magnus, that’s a plan he fully supports.

“Not at all. I’d prefer it, actually. The angelic core is always more cooperative when you’re around.” He’s not lying about that; the core _likes_ Alec, in a way Magnus can never quite put into words.

He finally notices Isabelle right behind Alec, her hair pulled high and swinging in a long ponytail as she comes forward to greet him. “It’s good to see you, Magnus.”

“And you. I like that coat on you.” Magnus’ gaze drifts from her almost without meaning to, taking in Alec. “Almost as much as I like that suit on your brother.”

“Thanks,” Alec replies, grinning again. “It was a gift.”

“It’s so cute that you’re pretending you didn’t just see each other a few hours ago,” Isabelle says, rolling her eyes at them when she smiles.

“It’s still true,” Magnus answers lightly. “I liked it when he put it on this morning, and I’ll like it just as much when I take it off him later.”

“Okay,” Alec says loudly, turning toward the doors on the far side of the room. His hand drops automatically to the small of Magnus’ back to steer him along, which sends warmth up his spine and makes up for how much Magnus still wants to tease him in front of his loyal followers. “Glad we’re all caught up, let’s go look at the core.”

Isabelle’s laughter follows them, and Magnus can’t help one last glance over his shoulder to wink at the petrified security guard. “I love when you get in this mood,” he tells Alec conversationally. “It reminds me of all of those personnel transfers to Alaska.”

“He’s new,” Alec explains, with an undercurrent of apology in his voice that Magnus knows he means. Alec might have been making a point just now, but he’d have done the same for any downworlder he suspected wasn’t being treated with respect by his staff. “He was just trying to impress me.”

“That backfired,” Magnus notes, fairly sure that this isn’t the way any shadowhunter wants to gain the Head of the Institute’s attention.

“If he’d really wanted to impress me, he would have known you were stopping by for an appointment, and looked at the photo in your file.” Alec glances sideways at him. “And don’t say they don’t look like you, because I changed out the old cover photo for the one you said you liked best.”

“I still look much better in person.” Alec smiles at that, looking at him again long and lingering this time, the way he had when he’d first walked into the ops center. “Are you free after this?” Magnus asks. “We could do lunch. Or each other. Do you still have a bedroom here?”

“Don’t even think about it,” Alec warns, although Magnus notices that isn’t actually an answer. “If we disappear for an hour, Izzy will never let me hear the end of it.”

They stop outside of the elevator that accesses the clean white chamber housing the angelic core, and Alec draws his stele to activate the unlock rune. He looks at Magnus as the doors slide open, hesitating, and Magnus wonders whether the gold eyeliner is about to pay unexpected dividends. He hadn’t planned on talking Alec into an office quickie, but he’s certainly not going to object.

“Sir.” Underhill’s voice from the end of the hallway breaks the moment. He’s wearing the polite but immovable expression that frequently leads to Alec working late, a tablet in his hand, and Alec turns away with a barely-there sigh.

“I’ll be right there,” he tells Magnus, running his stele over the control panel and stepping back away from the elevator. “Let someone know if you need anything.”

“I think I can manage,” Magnus answers, and because it’s only Underhill, who’s caught them in far more compromising positions than a meaningful look, he rises onto his toes to press a kiss to Alec’s cheek before he goes.

The angelic core isn’t precisely anathema to Magnus’ demonic magic, but it’s definitely foreign. Even when he’d temporarily rerouted the ley lines, he hadn’t been working with it directly. He doesn’t know that he could. It’s cold and remote, a blade honed to a fine, singular point, where Magnus’ magic is wild and alive.

It’s the order to his chaos, and Magnus can tell within the first minute of trying to coax it into sympathy with his own magic that he won’t succeed. The core takes as much notice of him as he might of a bug on the sidewalk, and his magic slides off without even touching it.

They’d known this might happen. The only reason he’s trying at all is out of concern that the ley lines might have created an imperceptible fissure when they’d flooded the core with magic; an invisible fault line that will only become apparent over time. It’s clear now that if there is any damage, Magnus won’t be the one to find it.

He hears the door open behind him, and Alec’s steady presence is by his side a moment later. “How’s it going?” Alec asks, and Magnus shakes his head. He still has a few things left to try, but he doesn’t expect them to be any more successful.

Alec, possibly misunderstanding the gesture and assuming Magnus has already admitted defeat, rests a sympathetic hand over his on the control panel.

Magnus feels the shift in the core resonate through his magic, down to his very bones. It’s both sudden and as slow as geologic time, a sense of massive blade-feathered wings unfurling and a beacon of cold white fire blazing out from an ancient heart, implacable and devastating.

He’s yanked his hand away and tripped backward three steps before he even realizes he’s moving. Alec stares at him, wide-eyed and frozen in place, his hand now hovering over where Magnus’ had been. “Sorry,” Magnus manages, his heart pounding. “I wasn’t ready for that.”

It’s an understatement. Whatever _that_ had been, he’s not sure that he’d ever be ready for it. It’s plain by Alec’s expression that he hadn’t felt anything at all; that he has no sense of the power they’d touched for a single, fleeting moment.

“Are you okay?” Alec’s concern snaps Magnus out of his daze, and he takes stock of himself, half-expecting to smell traces of ash in the air. There’s nothing, and while he’s not going to start throwing any spells around in this room after what had just happened, his magic feels whole, uncorrupted and intact.

“Fine. As is the core.” That one eyeblink of contact had been enough for him to confirm it, which is a relief, because Magnus doesn’t want to repeat this exercise anytime soon. He gives Alec an assessing look. “You haven’t been doing anything with it lately, have you? Besides the usual.” He’s reasonably sure Alec would have told him, but he’d feel better knowing there haven’t been any recent developments.

“No, we leave it alone most of the time.” Alec is still looking at him, obviously not sure whether to believe his reassurance, but he finally turns away to look out at the core. “I’ve started coming down here sometimes, since the thing with the ley lines. When there’s a problem I can’t see my way out of, or I just need a few minutes to be alone. It’s...peaceful.”

It would be, Magnus thinks, to someone half-angel who’d grown up here, surrounded by this resolute, alien power all his life. He wonders if Alec had felt the same way in Edom that he’d felt just now, faced with an overwhelming sense of magic antithetical to his own.

He wants to tell Alec to be careful, to warn him that the angelic core, whatever else it might be, is alive the same way Magnus’ magic is, a connective force that binds them to the universe. He already knows, however, that Alec belongs to this magic the way Magnus does to Edom, and the core would never knowingly hurt him.

“How about that lunch?” Magnus suggests, eager to be out of this room, to shake off the last traces of this unsettling experience. “Can you spare half an hour? I can portal us to a market with excellent street food.”

“That sounds good.” Alec smiles at him and offers his hand; after only a brief hesitation, Magnus takes it. Whatever he’d felt before is gone now, the room as sterile as it had been before Alec had unintentionally interrupted Magnus’ spell. “I should let someone know I’m leaving before we go.”

“Text them,” Magnus advises as they start toward the elevator. “That way they won’t have a chance to stop you.”

☙

Magnus is three chapters and several pages of notes into a text on interdimensional binding spells when his phone rings. It’s already well past eight; Alec had called hours ago to say he didn’t know when he’d be home, and not to wait for dinner. Magnus expects this time he’ll say not to wait up at all, which is disappointing but occasionally inevitable. They’re both busy, with responsibilities outside of their marriage that they’ve both agreed to prioritize. Magnus isn’t always the one waiting home alone at night.

To their credit, they’ve managed a reasonable attempt at a work-life balance for people who are running most of a city between them. Magnus might not be the High Warlock of Brooklyn anymore, but he’s moved into a new position as something of an unofficial liaison between the various factions, downworlders and shadowhunters alike. Alec calls him a ‘consultant’ on the occasions his presence is requested at cabinet meetings, and while Lorenzo is never happy to see him there, no one ever objects. Between managing Pandemonium, taking clients, and advising downworld leadership, it’s amazing he has as many evenings at home as he does.

“If you’re calling to ask if you need to stop for milk on your way home, the answer is no,” Magnus says when he answers the phone. He doesn’t have much hope that Alec is actually calling to say he’s leaving the office, but the attempt at levity might assuage some of Alec’s inevitable guilt.

“Hey.” Alec doesn’t even seem to have registered the joke. “You know how sometimes I tell you whether I’m calling for my husband or the most powerful warlock in Brooklyn?” He sounds distracted and alert at the same time, and in the background Magnus can hear the familiar clamor of shadowhunters preparing for battle. He sits up straight before he’s fully registered that thought, setting down his teacup and closing the book in his lap. “I’ve got an active summoning circle, an angry werewolf pack, and a scared warlock kid we think might be injured.”

“Where?” Magnus asks, snapping his fingers to banish his book and notes, and summoning a jacket from the closet with a flourish of his fingers as he stands.

“Staten Island, near Tottenville, North Mount Loretto State Park. Can you track me?” There’s tension in Alec’s voice, and Magnus knows without needing to see him that he’s rubbing his thumb over his wedding ring.

“I’ll be right there.” Magnus hangs up and closes his hand around his own ring, focusing on the thin strand of magic that binds it to Alec’s. Todt Hill is home to quite a few warlocks, familiar enough that Magnus could portal into the general area and make his way over from there, but it sounds as though Alec isn’t sure they have that much time.

He opens the portal as soon as he’s fixed it on Alec’s location, and while it isn’t happy - portals never are when he uses a _who_ for the focus rather than a _where_ , but Magnus invented the damned things and they’re going to do what he wants them to - it stabilizes so he can step through.

He’s in the right place, at least. It’s controlled chaos; there are shadowhunters in black leather fanned out in a half-circle, illuminated in silhouette by the orange light of demon fire that splits open the ground beneath it like an open wound. He’s only a few steps from Alec, who has his bow drawn and is sighting on one of the shadowed forms winging overhead, piercing the night air with a defiant shriek.

Alec releases, reaches for his quiver, and nocks another arrow in one breath, sighting again on the next demon. Without looking away, he calls back, “Can you shut that circle down?”

Magnus doesn’t waste time answering. He calls magic into his palms, lighting his way and marking him as an ally in case any overeager shadowhunters mistake him for a target. As it turns out, he needn’t have worried; Alec’s team is disciplined, and they’re either expecting him or unsurprised he’s here, because those nearest him fall into flanking positions to cover him as he heads for the circle.

He can hear the crack of Izzy’s whip somewhere to his left, and the reverberating hum of Alec’s bowstring as he looses another arrow, cutting short another ear-splitting screech. He can also hear sobbing, and as he nears the circle he sees the girl Alec had warned him about, curled up on the ground and rocking in place. There are bodies fallen around her, and since they’re not dressed like shadowhunters, Magnus guesses they’re werewolves. The rest of the pack is engaged in close combat with the demons on the ground, snarling and driving them back onto the shadowhunters’ seraph blades.

Magnus focuses on the summoning circle first, because they can’t get this situation under control until they’ve cut off the demons coming through it. He doesn’t know what this child has done, because it’s obvious she hasn’t summoned a single demon, and just as clear that the circle isn’t containing anything. It’s a gateway, but one that’s wide open and out of its creator’s control.

Demonic energy never wants to be closed off once it’s found a way in, but whether he likes it or not, Magnus is the son of a former Prince of Hell, and there’s nothing on the other side of that connection with the willpower to stand against him. He ignores the demons around him - Alec is covering him now as well; a leathery corpse smacks into the ground and disintegrates some distance away with a familiar arrow sticking out of it - and pushes his magic into the ruptured circle, sealing it shut.

It takes some time, but gradually, inevitably, the connection breaks, and the flames extinguish with a hiss and one final flare of blue-tipped orange fire. Magnus staggers but keeps his feet, and takes a few panting breaths before turning his attention to the next problem.

The girl on the ground is jolted into fresh hysteria by the loss of the circle, and as Magnus takes a few unsteady steps in her direction she begins screaming, high and barely coherent. “I want to go home, I want to go home, _I want to go home_ ,” she wails, and her wild, uncontrolled magic surges up in a wave that rolls outward toward the werewolves and shadowhunters still battling demons around them.

Magnus contains it, contains _her_ , but her magic is a desperate force of grief and _want_ , and she batters at him like the child she is, uncontrolled power without intent, like anguished fists beating against his chest. He doesn’t want to sedate her, would rather talk her down so they can build some measure of trust, but she’s beyond coherence and he’s painfully aware of the unmoving forms around her. There are lives he might be able to save if he can get to them in time, and to do that he has to get through her first.

He can’t let the shield around her fall while she’s still lashing out, so he concentrates on focusing it inward, pressing the barrier closer around her in the hopes that she’ll feel it and calm down enough for him to land a sedation spell. She’s still screaming, but all at once she seems to register the devastation around her and her sobbing breaks off into a dazed hiccup, the storm of wild magic dying down with her confusion. Magnus drops the containment barrier and puts her to sleep so quickly that she doesn’t make a sound, just slumps onto the ground with her eyes fluttering closed.

That leaves Magnus with a few remaining demons, which the shadowhunters seem to have well in hand, and an enraged pack of werewolves, which they decidedly don’t. They’re circling Magnus, the girl, and their fallen packmates, and the four shadowhunters who’ve formed Magnus’ personal guard throughout this ordeal are facing them, weapons still raised. If any one of those here tonight breaks the peace, this will be a political nightmare, and Magnus hasn’t caught his breath yet.

“Magnus, get her out of here,” Alec shouts from somewhere behind him. He doesn’t want to go, to leave Alec in what could quickly become a bloodbath and abandon those who might need healing, but he understands what Alec is doing. By removing the warlock who’d created this mess, he’ll be removing the immediate source of tension between the pack and the shadowhunters, hopefully giving Alec a chance to talk them down.

On the heels of that thought is the jarring realization that this isn’t the New York pack. Magnus doesn’t see anyone he knows, which means it’s the Newark pack, crossed over into another territory to protect their own people. Eyes glow in the darkness as the New York pack slinks out of the woods around them, and now it’s Magnus in the center of the circle, surrounded by shadowhunters who will defend him against any threat, with two werewolf packs around them and Alec and the rest of his people caught in between them.

“Magnus!” Alec shouts again. Magnus closes his eyes, opens a portal, and goes.

He takes his charge to the apartment, getting her under his wards where not even a furious pack alpha will be able to reach her, and deposits her on the sofa where he can check her for injuries. She’s deeply asleep, as she will be until he wakes her, and he’s tempted to just leave her here and turn back, but he knows why Alec sent him away. Magnus is hardly an easy target if the Newark werewolves want to pick a fight, but he could easily become a convenient one, a way to escalate tensions without directly attacking either the shadowhunters or another pack.

He has to trust that Alec can handle the situation, or that he’ll call for Magnus again if he needs him. In the meantime, he has a child to look after.

She has a few cuts and scrapes, but they’re all minor and he has them patched up with hardly more than a wave of his hand. No broken bones and no head injuries, which can be a tricky business. Then he checks internally, and nearly loses his breath.

Whatever she’d done to open that summoning circle, her connection to the other plane hasn’t been cleanly broken. It’s a jagged-edged tear in her soul, sluggishly bleeding her magic and life force into the void she’d been struggling to reach through. Magnus goes to his knees and calls up all the magic he has left, pouring it into healing that one ugly wound.

He doesn’t think it’s going to be enough. He needs potions, he needs _power_ , and it had been a long day even before the portaling, the summoning circle, and the shield spell. He breaks his concentration for long enough to call Catarina, but it goes to voicemail and he doesn’t have any more time to spare.

Seconds trickle into minutes, into beads of sweat at his temples and tremors of exhaustion in his arms, into the slowing heartbeat he’s wrapped his magic around just to keep it going for one more minute, thirty more seconds, another moment, another breath.

He doesn’t hear Alec arrive until he skids to his knees beside Magnus, who’s now slumped sideways half-over the sofa and hanging on through sheer force of will. Alec’s left hand catches his without asking, and Magnus takes it for the permission he knows it is, reaching for the reserve of Alec’s strength.

It’s a well so deep that Magnus has never found the bottom of it, and it rises around him without any hesitation, offering anything he needs with nothing held back. This is a truth that Magnus has known about Alec since the first time they clasped hands this way; that Alec is wary and guarded until he chooses a course of action, and unwaveringly committed once he does.

He stops the bleeding, seals off the wound, restores enough life to keep that fragile heart beating, and then things start to go hazy. It’s entirely possible that he grays out for a few minutes; when he becomes aware of his surroundings again, he’s propped up against Alec’s chest, both of them wedged against the coffee table, and Alec is talking to someone who isn’t him.

“Medium-rare. As quickly as possible, just leave it outside the door. Thank you.” Alec hangs up the phone and looks down just as Magnus cranes his neck to look up, and a relieved smile breaks out over his face. “Hey. Catarina’s on her way; she’s taking your patient to the hospital and we’re getting Madzie for the night. Can you drink something?”

Magnus makes an optimistic sound of assent and Alec offers him a glass that’s either water or vodka; Magnus will take it either way. There are questions he should probably be asking, about the werewolf packs and the demons and how much shit they’re actually in right now, but Alec’s fingers are carding through his hair and he can’t summon up the energy. If Alec is here with him, they must not be at war quite yet.

“I always forget what that feels like,” Alec murmurs while Magnus gulps down what is, in fact, a passable attempt at a martini. “Being a part of your magic. It’s incredible.”

Magnus makes another noise, part-agreement and part-request for Alec to continue holding him and giving him drinks. Alec chuckles and takes back the empty glass. “Steak should be here soon. I can wake you up when it gets here if you want to rest.”

That sounds like the best idea Magnus has heard today. He has a brief thought that Alec probably meant for him to move to their bed, but Alec’s arms are around him and he can see the slight rise and fall of the girl’s chest as she breathes, and passing out right here isn’t a conscious decision so much as an inevitability. He relaxes back against Alec and lets himself fall.

☙

The next few days are understandably tense, with Magnus whisking little Sidonie off to the Spiral Labyrinth while Alec runs interference with the Clave on her behalf, and the Institute’s downworld cabinet uniting in a rare but unhelpful show of support behind the New York werewolf pack, who are now on the verge of a territory dispute with the Newark pack over, of all things, the Isle of Meadows.

Magnus doesn’t feel like he can breathe easily until Alec is home each night, which happens later than either of them would like. He’s already on edge when a fire-message flares into existence from one of his assistant managers at Pandemonium, telling him there’s been a minor incident at the club. It’s followed in quick succession by another from Isabelle on behalf of the Institute, formally apologizing for the disturbance and promising compensation for any damages, and a string of text message alerts on his phone which turn out to be from Simon.

The first one says only _he’s ok_ , which is less reassuring than Simon probably thinks it is, followed by _alec_ , in case there was any doubt, and then _jace is with him_. His phone continues to buzz with text alerts from several of his staff at once, but it starts ringing before he can read any further.

“Isabelle,” he says, and he means to sound grim and formidable, her name a demand for explanation, but even he can hear the worry in it.

“There was some trouble at Pandemonium,” she says succinctly, and he’s rarely been more grateful for the way shadowhunters are taught to report. “A few minor injuries, but no one is badly hurt. Alec and Jace went to break it up and got caught in the middle. The only reason Alec isn’t calling you himself is because he’s busy, but he wanted to let you know he’s all right.”

It doesn’t completely ease the tight band around his chest, but it does help. “Should I come?”

“You don’t need to, everything is under control—but if you’re asking whether he’d want you there, then the answer is yes.” She sounds relieved that he’d asked, and he wonders if she’d been as worried as he had when the messages had started coming in. “They’re still at the club.”

“Then I’m on my way.” He hangs up and takes a moment to change into something more appropriate, because if he’s going to storm into his own nightclub like a wrathful valkyrie, he ought to look as intimidating as he currently feels.

He sweeps through the front doors five minutes later and the crowd scatters to clear his path, given incentive by the sparks coming off Magnus’ fingertips. The fuss does seem to be over, the club patrons packed together in clumps and talking more than dancing, a hum of excitement in the air. His assistant manager has spotted him and is hurrying his way, but Magnus sees Jace standing outside the hall that leads to his office, feet planted apart in parade rest and arms crossed over his chest, and changes direction.

“Magnus.” Jace gives him a nod. He’s too observant not to notice the fact that Magnus is crackling with magic, but doesn’t say anything about it. Magnus thinks he might even look vaguely approving. “Izzy called you?”

“She was rather vague on the details.” Magnus doesn’t add that he expects Jace to start talking, because it’s heavily implied by his pointed look.

If this were earlier in their acquaintance, he might be inclined to blame Jace for whatever had happened tonight. For months, Jace had been the reckless liability most likely to endanger Alec’s life, and their relationship had been somewhat strained. Then Alec had walked into Edom to save Magnus with no intention of walking back out again, leaving him without much of a leg to stand on in that department.

He’s also now Magnus’ brother-in-law, which is a position Magnus had never expected to see filled, and he’s still not sure how he feels about it. The one thing they both agree on is Alec, and he supposes there are worse foundations for a relationship than wanting to see someone you care about healthy and happy.

“Alec’s in your office with Maia. We got word that things were getting heated over here, and nearly everyone else was out on patrol. And it was Pandemonium,” Jace adds with a shrug. “Alec thought you might be here.”

Magnus interprets that shrug as _there was a chance you were in danger, so the Head of the Institute came personally to break up a bar fight_ , and since he’s here now for essentially the same reason, he doesn’t really have a defense.

“I was, until about an hour ago,” Magnus admits. Alec had known he was going in tonight; with Alec working late at the Institute, Magnus has been keeping himself occupied with business. “If I’d known there would be trouble, I’d have stayed longer.”

Maia’s presence means the werewolves are involved, and with tensions running high, Magnus has an inkling about what set them off. “Let me guess. Some of the Newark pack came clubbing?”

Jace shakes his head. “This was all internal. Some vampires got a little too enthusiastic in supporting the territory dispute; they started talking a few of the werewolves into crossing over the state line and picking a fight. Cooler heads tried to get involved and talk them down. That’s when it looked like a fight was going to break out, and Izzy got a call from someone here.”

Magnus looks sharply at Jace, assessing. “You think a vampire clan is hoping to encourage war between werewolf packs?”

“No. They were all recently-turned, and the werewolves weren’t much older. We think it’s just young hotheads who think they’re being supportive. There’s a lot of weird New York downworlder team spirit going around. They weren’t the problem, and they got out of the way pretty quickly once we showed up. There were just too many pack members in one place trying to establish dominance, and things got out of hand.”

“And you ended up in the middle of it?” Magnus raises an eyebrow. He’s sure the subtext of _you put Alec in harm’s way again?_ is coming across loud and clear. Being angry at Jace is easier than blaming himself for not being here, and for this situation arising under his roof.

“Two of them finally went for each other, and you know what it would have been like if they’d tangled. There were too many people in here, it would have been a bloodbath. Alec got between them.” Jace shakes his head again. “I don’t know how he moved that fast. It was like he was just there, I didn’t even see him activate his runes. Once they realized what they’d done, everything settled down fast. Maia just got here a few minutes before you did.”

Something about that phrasing sets off warning bells in Magnus’ mind, and he rewinds their conversation, hoping he’s wrong. “Are you saying,” he says slowly, “that Alexander put himself between two _transforming_ werewolves?”

Jace has the grace to wince. “Look, I would have stopped him if I’d known. Magnus, wait,” he says urgently as Magnus starts toward the door. “Give him a minute, I swear he’s fine, but he needs to settle this with Maia or the pack’s going to be in deep shit.”

Magnus’ fingernails are showering sparks again. He sees claws and teeth and the body weight of full-grown wolves in mid-leap in his mind. He flicks his hand open, fingers splayed, and sends a small, controlled burst of magic into the wall, exploding it into a shower of paint chips and plaster. Jace, rather than being cowed and intimidated, looks curious.

“Is it weird that I sort of know what that feels like? Not directly, but third-hand, I guess. I can tell when you and Alec…” Jace gestures between them meaningfully, and Magnus is absolutely not going to ask, but Jace doesn’t seem to need encouragement. “Like a few nights ago. He sort of...glows. He’s been doing that a lot lately.”

Magnus has just figured out that he means the healing meld when the office door opens. Maia emerges with a hard look on her face and gives them both a nod but keeps going. Normally Magnus would exercise more diplomacy, but he’d prefer to see Alec before anyone else decides to get in his way. Jace trails in behind him and shuts the door, muffling the noise from the club to nothing more than a low vibration in the walls.

Alec is half-reclined on the black leather couch against the wall, and his expression relaxes when he sees Magnus, genuinely glad to see him there. Magnus guesses that’s only because he doesn’t know yet that Magnus has heard about the stunt with the werewolves.

Alec’s gaze travels over him at length, taking in his spiked hair and the kohl around his eyes, drifting down the open collar of his shirt and over the silver chains draped across his chest, all the way to the wine-red nails still crackling with magic. “Wow,” he says, blinking. “You look…”

“Incredibly handsome?” Magnus suggests, moving away from the door to stand beside the couch.

“Really pissed off,” Alec finishes, looking up again. He blinks a second time, just a little too slow. Magnus reaches out to tilt his face up, and watches Alec try to focus on him. His pupils are enormous. Magnus turns slowly to fix Jace with a look.

“Okay.” Jace raises his hands, conceding. “I might not have mentioned the part where he got tagged with a werewolf tranquilizer, but Izzy says he’ll burn it off in no time.”

Magnus flexes his hands for a moment, tempted to blast another chunk of his wall into shrapnel, and then sighs. “Alexander,” he murmurs, while Alec tries to look contrite and ends up mostly distracted by the glitter of Magnus’ rings in the light, “what am I going to do with you?”

Alec finally looks up at him and smiles, slow and wide, and Magnus is nearly startled into a laugh.

Jace groans. “Magnus, come on, you can’t ask him that while he’s high and I’m right here.” He steps forward and offers Magnus a slip of onionskin. “I got the warlock who brewed the potion to write down what’s in it. Izzy said we’d have seen an allergic reaction by now if he was going to have one, but just in case.” Jace correctly interprets Magnus’ assessing look and smirks. “You can admit it, you’re a little impressed.”

“I’m reserving judgment. And I’m taking you home,” Magnus tells Alec. He skims the list of ingredients, but it looks like a standard lycanthropic peace draught, and Isabelle is right. Alec should be burning it out of his system quickly enough, particularly if he’d needed a healing rune.

“Technically, magical substance protocol is to return to the Institute for observation,” Alec says, although he sounds reluctant.

“I think I’m capable of observing you,” Magnus answers. A new thought occurs to him as he looks around the room. They’re in his office, behind his wards. He’d dropped them without a thought when Jace had come in after him, but before then Alec had walked right in, and brought Maia with him. He wonders if his wards at the Institute have stopped recognizing Alec as well, and it’s not just the apartment.

“I’ll wrap things up here,” Jace says, stepping forward to clasp Alec’s shoulder and help him off the couch. “Take care of yourself. Try not to jump in front of any more werewolves, your husband gets pissed at me.”

“If you hadn’t activated my strength and speed runes, he’d be a lot more pissed,” Alec jokes, unsteady enough on his feet that he reaches for Magnus before Jace lets go of him. Magnus flicks a glance at Jace, because that doesn’t match the story Jace had told him in the hallway, but Jace is frowning at Alec.

Alec is compromised, Magnus reminds himself as Alec leans against him with a quiet, relieved sigh. Adrenaline and werewolf tranquilizers are a potent combination. His head and memories are probably muddled, which is why Magnus is going to put him to bed and let him sleep it off for as long as he can get away with.

“Hey,” Alec murmurs as Magnus opens a portal. “Thanks for coming. I always want you around after I’ve gotten my ass kicked.”

“I don’t know how that didn’t make it into our wedding vows,” Magnus says, and pulls the portal forward to send them home.

☙

Because this week is determined to be as irritating as possible, Alec’s day off coincides with Magnus having a very old favor called in, one he owes with several centuries of interest. He portals to Hong Kong just before midnight in New York, leaving Alec asleep in their bed along with any chance of waking up together for a leisurely brunch on the balcony.

When he returns sometime after what his brain isn’t completely convinced is midnight in Hong Kong, the apartment is bright with early autumn sunlight. Magnus is so badly portal-lagged that he wants to fall directly into bed and sleep for the rest of the day, but there’s no chance he’ll manage it when his scrambled internal clock thinks it’s just past lunchtime.

Alec must hear him arrive, because he appears a moment later to take the satchel of reference texts from Magnus’ unresisting hand and kiss him good morning, only a few hours late. “How’d it go?” he asks, looking Magnus over. “Did you lift the curse?”

“A resounding success,” Magnus pronounces. “I’m going to have to write something up for the Spiral Labyrinth before they decide to summon me for a demonstration. Not that it wasn’t a satisfying experience, but it’s more energy than I’d prefer to spend on a repeat performance. I’m almost surprised I managed the portal.”

“Steak and vodka?” Alec asks, already taking a half-step toward the drinks cart. “Or I can make something else for lunch if you haven’t eaten.”

The offer galvanizes something in Magnus, a question he hadn’t quite formed yet, let alone answered. “Actually,” he suggests, moving back into Alec’s space and fussing with Alec’s open collar, “I was wondering if you’re up for the alternate option.”

Alec looks surprised, but only for a moment before his lips twitch. “When am I ever not up for it? Are you sure, though? You don’t want to get some sleep?”

“I slept for a few hours while the potion was brewing,” Magnus answers. “And I’ve been drinking coffee since I woke up. I’d rather wear myself out, or I’ll only toss and turn.”

“In that case, let me put this away and get some water, and you can do your thing.” Alec drops another kiss on his mouth, just as chaste but with a little more promise in it, and takes Magnus’ satchel upstairs to the library. Magnus fetches his chalks and gets to work on the circle.

Contrary to what some shadowhunters might believe - which Magnus knows because Alec had re-created Hodge’s introductory ‘Magnus Bane indulges in forbidden carnal pleasures’ speech one night on the sofa when they were both tipsy - Magnus isn’t as much of a hedonist as he likes people to think. He’d gone through a sex magic phase in the 1770s - who hadn’t, honestly? - but it’s an intensely personal ritual, and red meat and martinis work just as well for boosting his energy levels.

He doesn’t know why he’d first suggested it to Alec. Maybe because there are so few things Magnus feels like he can make theirs alone, or maybe because they can’t seem to stop making bold, terrifying demonstrations of trust in each other, stepping out on one branch after another to be sure it will always hold their weight.

He doesn’t even need a partner for this, strictly speaking. Self-love can be just as personal, and just as intense; they’d tried it that way once, too, with Alec watching hungrily from outside the circle while Magnus put on a show. He likes the intimacy when they’re together, though, and it settles something in Alec, too; the tangible knowledge that he’s able to help when Magnus is in need.

They’ve experimented enough to have the preparations down to a routine: Chalk circle, water glasses, pot of massage oil, pillows, and the oversized velvet pouf that Alec hates, but they still use it because they haven’t come up with anything better. Alec is already eyeing it with intense dislike, and Magnus laughs at his expression and then tries to distract him by pulling off his shirt.

“Stop glaring at the furniture and pay attention to me,” Magnus says, shedding his clothes and hopping over the edge of the chalk line onto the pouf, which is now draped with a silk sheet. Alec follows him, crawling up Magnus’ body to kiss him, slow and languid.

“Always,” Alec promises, breathing it against Magnus’ skin, into his ear, and Magnus shivers at the brush of Alec’s lips over his cheek. “Ready?”

Magnus waves an airy hand, a _please, proceed_ gesture that has the desired effect of making Alec grin down at him. There’s sunlight streaming in from the balcony, highlighting Alec’s dark hair and picking out the shades of green and gold in his eyes. They’re both bathed in it, the sun warm on their bare skin, and Magnus stretches all the way from his fingertips to his toes like a cat waking from a nap.

Alec’s lips trail down his throat, following the line of his collarbone, and Magnus closes his eyes to feel the sunlight against his eyelids, the bright glow almost blinding when he turns his head toward the balcony and gives Alec access to the side of his neck.

“If you fall asleep during this,” Alec murmurs, dotting kisses across Magnus’ chest below his collarbone, “I’m going to remind you of it for at least a year.”

Magnus can already feel the spell tightening around him, the thin coil of magic winding up his spine. “No chance of that,” he promises, and strains up to catch Alec’s mouth for another kiss.

The most important elements to sex magic are time and trust. The more open someone is, and the longer they draw out the experience, the more magic drips into the reservoir they’re filling up. Jokes about stamina runes aside, it had only taken one mention of this fact for Alec to turn teasing Magnus into his own personal mission.

It can’t be denial; spells don’t appreciate being thwarted, and cutting off the flow of magic defeats the whole point. The trick of it is a slow, steady build, an ocean of wanting finally fulfilled. It’s why they’re not touching yet, even though Magnus is already fantasizing about how Alec’s bare skin will feel under his hands, warmed from the sunlight, and why Alec keeps breaking their kisses to whisper in his ear and taste Magnus’ skin. Sex magic is the best way Magnus has found yet to coax Alec into talking in bed, which had been a delightful discovery and one he takes full advantage of.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Alec breathes, pausing to run the tip of his tongue up the line of Magnus’ throat. “The other night when you showed up in the club, I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“You were also high,” Magnus reminds him, and this is part of it too, perhaps the best part, the shared smiles and laughter as they grin against each other’s mouths and magic tickles Magnus’ skin.

“You were still beautiful,” Alec counters, and then he dips his head for a kiss and makes Magnus chase him for it, twice, three times before Magnus groans and surges up to catch his mouth. Alec breaks away, breathless through the next rush of words. “You know what you look like when you’re wearing your power on your skin. Like you can’t be contained, like you’re letting everyone see who you really are. There’s never anyone else in the room when I see you like that.”

Magnus chases a kiss Alec refuses to give him until he’s sitting all the way up and Alec is grinning at him, light and joyous, and Magnus abandons restraint to drag Alec back down on top of him, both hands wound through Alec’s hair. They kiss until their lips are swollen and bruised, and then Alec slides his arms under Magnus to turn him over onto his stomach so Alec can kiss his way down Magnus’ spine.

Magnus has never felt as loved as he does with Alec. He’s also never felt so deliciously _handled_. Alec isn’t rough with him, but he’s strong enough that when he wants Magnus somewhere, he’ll just lift and move him there, frequently prompting an embarrassing noise as Magnus goes liquid and lets Alec maneuver him.

 _Archers and upper body strength_ , Magnus thinks gratefully as he feels the first light graze of Alec’s teeth, clenching both fists in the silk sheet that’s already twisted up beneath them. He’s fairly certain it had originally been dark red, but he’s unsurprised to find that it’s now burnished gold.

He’s already rolling his hips against the sheet when Alec pulls him back onto his knees, wrapping Magnus up in his arms until he feels so cherished his chest aches. Then Alec cheats, tangling their left hands so their wedding rings click together, which is a weakness Magnus hadn’t known about before the first time Alec had done it, and which undoes him now every time.

“Touch me,” Magnus demands when he squirms around again, needing to get his hands and mouth back on Alec. There’s magic trickling through him now, lighting him up from the inside, making him feel alive and connected and vital, and he needs to share that feeling so badly he shakes with it.

Alec touches him, not where he wants but close enough, and they kiss until Magnus has to break away, panting for breath. “Too much?” Alec asks, without changing the pressure of his fingers. “I can stop.”

“Don’t you dare,” Magnus warns, and when Alec’s eyes crinkle at the corners with laughter, Magnus can’t hold back anymore, hauling himself up into Alec’s lap to demand, “More.”

He would beg if he had to, but Alec feels the tipping point the same way he does, even if he can’t feel the magic coiling thick and syrupy around Magnus’ limbs. He must not be the only one who’s been thinking of their first shared healing meld lately, because when Alec whispers against his lips, he says, “Take what you need.”

He does. He rides Alec until the muscles in his legs tremble, pushes Alec down and braces himself on Alec’s chest to get a better angle, follows him when Alec grasps a handful of the leather cords around Magnus’ neck and pulls him down to kiss him again. They’re drenched in sweat and sunlight, laughing when Magnus’ bracelet catches on Alec’s ear, moaning wordless encouragement when they get the tempo just right.

The trickle of magic has become a flood, and Magnus’ skin is dancing with it, sparks skittering over his skin and Alec’s, tingling everywhere they touch. It’s going to be too much soon, more than he can contain, and just before he tumbles over the edge he says urgently, “Now, now,” and they fall together, the tension released and the spell sealing off like a cork stopping up a bottle.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Alec pants eventually, when they have enough breath back for words, and Magnus laughs until his sides ache, until Alec rolls over him and shuts him up with another kiss.

“We’re getting very, very good at this,” Magnus tells him when they settle, resting on his back in the crook of Alec’s arm and letting his magic run wild, splashes of light and color dancing around the room. Alec turns his head, a question in his eyes, and Magnus assures him, “All topped up.”

“Maybe I should start charging for my services,” Alec considers, another grin caught at the corner of his mouth when he feels Magnus tremble with laughter. “Magical battery charger.”

“What would you set as your standard fee?” Magnus asks, looking over at him. He’s not surprised at all to see strands of his magic curling around Alec, sliding across his bare skin.

“Oh,” Alec muses, smug and satisfied, “I’m sure I’d think of something.”

☙

“A-lec!” is the only warning they have when they walk through the door, accompanied by the rush of feet, but Alec is a shadowhunter and an older brother, and he’s already crouched down in time for Madzie to fling herself onto his back. Her arms wrap around his neck and she giggles as he stands.

“I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but I can’t believe you don’t have a kid yet,” Catarina comments, coming up beside Magnus as they watch Alec carry Madzie across the room, her legs kicking the air as he tickles her knees.

Magnus gives her a warning look. “It hasn’t even been a year. You don’t think that’s moving a little fast?”

Catarina raises her eyebrows and gives him an unimpressed look of her own. “Are you really trying to tell me he hasn’t already started hinting? And I don’t think you can talk about moving fast. How long did it take him to get that ring on your finger?”

Magnus waves a hand, dismissing that. “There are extenuating circumstances. I blame you, and all of this...domesticity.”

He gestures to where Madzie is now dangling upside-down against Alec’s back, her knees over his shoulders and his hands carefully holding her ankles to keep her from falling. As they watch, Alec helps her back up onto his shoulders and lifts her over his head to set her down. She’s not wearing a scarf, tapping her gills as she explains something to Alec, and Magnus feels something in his chest try to tighten and expand all at once.

“Uh-huh.” Catarina’s still smiling knowingly when he looks back at her, and Magnus pretends to be unaffected, but he knows how happy she is for him, the same way he’s happy for her. “Are you two…?” She breaks off, her eyes going wide with horror. “Madzie, no!”

Magnus spins around, his hands already rising, responding to Catarina’s fear and the bright flare of Madzie’s magic he feels burst through the room.

“Madzie!” he shouts, instinctively raising a shield to protect her with one sweep of his arms from the ground up, at the same time Catarina cries out, “Alec!”

He’s too late to stop whatever’s happened; Alec is on the ground, slowly rolling onto his elbow and holding his head. Madzie is frozen, her hands outstretched, dark brown eyes haunted. Magnus takes in both of them at a glance, and heads for Madzie first.

“It’s okay. Madzie, look, I’m okay.” Alec is already trying to reassure her when Magnus goes to his knees, offering his hands for her to take. Alec sounds dazed, but he’s coherent, so Magnus leaves him to Catarina and closes his hands gently around Madzie’s.

“Alexander is fine,” Magnus echoes, trying to soothe the look in her eyes, the one he’s seen after she wakes from nightmares she doesn’t want to tell them about. “No one is angry with you, sweetpea. Can you show me what you did, just now? Was it a spell? Did you lose control of it?”

It takes some coaxing, but eventually he gets her to walk through the magic with him, until he understands what she’d been trying to do and why it hadn’t worked. Then they practice a few times, running through it together. Magnus reaches blindly behind him once Madzie is focused on spellcasting, and feels tension bleed from his shoulders when Alec’s hand closes over his and squeezes.

The fear and distance haven’t entirely left Madzie’s eyes by the time they finish, so Magnus talks to her for a while longer, assuring her accidents happen and that everyone loses control, even him. “I threw a big ball of magic at Alexander once,” he tells her, in response to her skeptical look. “It happens to the best of us.”

“What happened?” Madzie asks, her attention finally caught enough to draw her out of her shell. They’re still not all the way there yet, but he thinks the next step is showing her that Alec has forgiven her as well; that there’s nothing to forgive.

Magnus widens his eyes dramatically. “He ducked.”

She’s surprised into a small smile, and he leans forward to pull her into a hug, rubbing her back and giving himself a moment to let go of the surge of fear he’d felt when Catarina had screamed. When he lets her go, he’s back in control of his expression, and Madzie looks more herself. “Why don’t you get an extra book for tonight, and we’ll have two stories at bedtime. I’m sure we can find room in your backpack for one more.”

Madzie looks over his shoulder, and Alec says, “If you can’t decide what you want to bring, we can look together,” which is enough to send her running to her room for the books, probably to deal with some feelings of her own.

Magnus exhales and turns to check on Alec, who’s dragged himself up to sit with his back against the couch. Magnus opens his mouth to ask if he’s all right, and realizes that Catarina hasn’t moved from where they’d been standing near the door. She’s blanched ashy-gray, her expression still frozen in terror, and there are tears on her cheeks.

Alec must see her as well, because he starts trying to stand up, using Magnus for leverage. Magnus puts a hand on his shoulder and holds him gently down. “This isn’t something you can help with,” he says quietly, and kisses Alec’s temple in apology. “Let me talk to her.”

She’s shaking when he turns her gently away toward the kitchen, and crying in earnest as soon as they’re inside and he shuts the door. He knows why without her having to tell him. For all that she knows Alec, trusts him with Madzie and Magnus alike, some wounds run so deeply that there will always be scars. The moment Madzie had lost control of her magic, Catarina hadn’t seen Alec. She’d seen a warlock child who’d used magic to attack a shadowhunter, and they all know the Clave’s punishment for that.

“Magnus,” she says when she can breathe again, and he pulls her into his arms the same way he’d done for Madzie, holding her while she cries.

“I know,” he says, closing his eyes and remembering decades, centuries before this, other children, other shadowhunters with the same runes now inscribed on Alec’s skin. “You don’t have to tell me. I know.”

She pulls away and wipes her eyes with her hands, and Magnus produces a handkerchief to help with the worst of it, pretending he doesn’t have tears in his eyes now as well.

He doesn’t think it needs to be said, but just in case it does, he says, “Catarina. You know he would never...”

“I know.” Catarina takes the handkerchief and blows her nose, pulling herself back together. “I wasn’t thinking. I saw him fall and all I could think was, if she killed him, what they’d…”

“Hey,” Magnus soothes. “Let’s not think about that. Anyway, it takes more than that to kill a shadowhunter. Believe me, I’ve been trying to get rid of them for centuries. I suppose this is my karmic retribution.”

Catarina manages a watery chuckle. “I should take a look at him before he goes. It’s the least I can do.”

“You don’t have to,” Magnus promises. “And if you want someone else to take sweetpea tonight, we’ll both understand.”

“No. No, she should be with you. She wouldn’t understand, and I’m not ready to have that conversation with her. And I know how much he adores her.” Catarina looks toward the door, but doesn’t move toward it.

Magnus rests his hand on her arm. “We both do. And there’s no need to rush. You don’t need to go out there until you’re ready. Alec is used to a little stray magic, he’s probably forgotten it already.”

It’s a slight exaggeration; privately, Magnus thinks there’s a good chance he has a concussion from the magical blast wave, but Alec has his stele and he’s been through far worse than one misfired spell.

Catarina blinks at him, her eyebrows going up. “He’s used to it? Exactly how often do you lose control around him?”

That’s a question Magnus isn’t particularly interested in exploring, so he answers evasively, “That depends on how many nights he works late at the office.”

“ _Magnus_ ,” Catarina says sharply, disbelieving. He can see the wheels start to turn behind her eyes, and then she asks, “Is that why Madzie’s spell didn’t knock him out just now? You and I both know she hit him a lot harder than he showed.”

“It’s probably the wards,” he suggests. “They’ve been getting attached to him.” It’s a stretch, but he knows she’s right; once he’d known where Madzie had gone wrong, he’d been surprised Alec wasn’t unconscious.

Catarina shakes her head slowly. “Maybe if we were at your place. I lower mine every time he comes over.” She heads for the kitchen door and Magnus trails behind her, stopping when she opens the door and raises her hands to begin a diagnostic healing spell.

He can see the spell settle around Alec, brightening his aura and painting him with color. His head is bent over the book lying open between him and Madzie on the couch, and Magnus thinks, _yes, there’s the concussion_ as the spell glows red. It’s already fading, soothed by Alec’s active healing rune.

Catarina twists her hands, and now Magnus can’t see whatever she’s looking at, but her hissed intake of breath gives him a clue. “All right,” he says hastily, before she can tear into him. “He may have had a little magical exposure.”

“A little exposure?” Catarina echoes, turning to stare at him. “Magnus, he’s practically marinating in it.”

“And no harm done, which is what’s important, isn’t it?” Magnus moves smoothly to cut off this line of conversation, because they’re not discussing the reason Alec is probably glowing like a magical beacon right now in front of Madzie. Or ever, if Magnus can help it. “As it turns out, that might have kept him safe, which can only be a good thing.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Catarina says, half-under her breath, but she lets it go and focuses on healing Alec’s concussion.

☙

Lorenzo’s reply to his fire message is concise and courteous, and Magnus mistrusts it immediately. He’s proven right a few hours later when Lorenzo stands smiling at his door, all teeth. “You really must be desperate, if you’re calling me for help.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Magnus tells him, standing back to allow Lorenzo inside. It’s true that Magnus doesn’t like having him here, and is even less thrilled to ask for his services, but there’s another reason he’d asked Lorenzo, rather than any of his other friends and acquaintances. He’s not going to lead with that, however, so instead he asks, “Can I get you a drink?”

“Garnacha, if you’re offering. Why don’t you tell me why I’m here. Your request wasn’t overly specific.” Lorenzo glances around the apartment as they move toward the drinks table, with an acquisitive look that Magnus moves immediately to quash.

“It’s about the apartment. I have some questions and was hoping you might be able to answer them.” Magnus picks up the tiny book that lists the contents of his wine cellar, currently residing in an abandoned crypt in Portugal. He only has one bottle of Garnacha, it seems, and he’s loath to part with it, but he did offer. After a pause, he adds, “I’d also appreciate your opinion on the magical workings currently in place. Not just the wards. A top-to-bottom inspection.”

Lorenzo’s eyes gleam with interest. “I’m willing to entertain your offer. If you’re willing to admit that my skill in this area exceeds your own, and that’s why you’re seeking my assistance.”

“Is that your price for an evaluation?” Magnus asks, summoning the wine bottle he’s even less inclined now to sacrifice to Lorenzo and popping the cork with a flick of his fingers.

Lorenzo’s smile grows to stretch across his entire face. “It will do for a start. Didn’t I see a vase the last time I was here? Ming dynasty?”

Apparently Magnus is cursed to lose that vase to people he doesn’t particularly care for. He supposes it could be worse. “It’s yours. And I would be grateful if you would share your...superior expertise...on the subject of architectural spells.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Lorenzo steps up to take one of the wine glasses from Magnus’ hand, and Magnus graciously doesn’t use that hand to cast a spell that will send Lorenzo flying back out the door. “Almost too easily agreed, in fact. I’m beginning to wonder if this is really about the apartment. You seem more than willing to pay the cost.”

“We’ll get to that,” Magnus replies evasively; he doesn’t particularly want to lead with that, either. “I was wondering first if you’d made any changes while you were here, in residence.”

Lorenzo’s eyes harden. “I think you know perfectly well that even if I had, they haven’t stayed that way. This place is too much of you to be anything else.” The way he says it makes it clear this is anything but a compliment. “I haven’t left any traps or curses behind, if that’s what you’re making such an effort to avoid asking me. I wouldn’t stoop so low.”

“That’s not why I’m asking.” Magnus holds up a placating hand and takes a fortifying sip of his wine. “It’s just that some things have been a little...strange, lately. With Alec.”

“Ah.” Lorenzo’s entire face changes, to enlightenment with a hint of intrigue. “Of course. You think he’s reacting badly to the wards?”

“He’s not reacting at all to the wards,” Magnus admits. “They don’t recognize him anymore. He comes and goes as he pleases without even a ripple.”

“You have him keyed into them, obviously,” Lorenzo says, and is about to say more when Magnus holds up a hand to forestall him.

“There’s more.” There’s so much more, in fact, that for a moment Magnus doesn’t know where to start. He decides to get the worst out of the way first, and then either Lorenzo can refuse to help him or they can move past the ensuing awkwardness and address the problem. “Rumor has it there’s a shadowhunter who’s been spending time at your mansion recently.”

Lorenzo’s eyes flash dangerously. “Is this the sort of gossip being spread around by the Head of the New York Institute?”

“Isabelle, actually,” Magnus answers with forced lightness. “I wondered…”

“If I’ve been affecting him with my magic, as it seems you’ve been affecting your lover with yours?” Lorenzo is scathing and dismissive all at once. “My control is meticulous and exact. It’s one of many reasons I was made High Warlock. I think you’ll find the rest of us are far less prone to your fits of childish temper.”

That answers the question Magnus desperately hadn’t wanted to ask, and he’s so relieved that he doesn’t even take offense at the barb. Parting with a Ming Dynasty vase is nothing compared to sharing the details of his sex life with Lorenzo.

He’s not really surprised. He’d never lost control with a lover either, before Alec, and with Alec he does nothing _but_ lose control. He’d wondered recently if it was a shadowhunter issue, some sort of angelic-demonic interference, but clearly that isn’t the case. He hadn’t really believed it would be.

“Why don’t we start the evaluation,” Magnus suggests, and Lorenzo eyes him suspiciously but doesn’t comment, setting down his wine glass and calling pale yellow magic into his hands.

They begin with a tour of the apartment, cataloguing each room so Lorenzo knows where to set the bounds of his spellwork. “I didn’t know this apartment had a kitchen,” Lorenzo says when they reach it, frowning at the hanging rack of pans and well-stocked pantry shelves.

“It’s Alec’s.” Magnus can hear the uncertainty in his own voice, and Lorenzo’s gaze fixes on him like a cobra staring down a mongoose.

“I think you should start at the beginning,” Lorenzo suggests, so Magnus does.

They work while he talks, chalking glyphs onto the walls and floors, borrowing ingredients from Magnus’ stores and laying protections around everything in the workroom that shouldn’t be disturbed even by a diagnostic spell. He goes through everything he can remember, the little things that don’t add up and the bigger things he’s only begun to notice; every incident over the past week that’s made him worry enough to ask Lorenzo Rey into his home for help.

“Some of this, I could see relating to your apartment,” Lorenzo says when he’s finished. “The angelic core, the Nephilim runes, those are another brand of magic entirely. But what happened with Ms. Loss’ dependent wasn’t under your wards at all.”

“I’d thought they might be attaching to him,” Magnus answers, ignoring Lorenzo’s skeptical look. “I can’t think of another explanation.”

Lorenzo studies him for a moment more, then says merely, “We should get started,” and they begin the invocations.

They go over every inch of the property, even the roof, and find nothing wrong. There are a few trinkets tucked away here and there that Magnus had nearly forgotten about, and which Lorenzo tells him with disapproval to secure more carefully if he won’t destroy them, but the foundations are solid. Saturated with Magnus’ magic, layers of wards and charms and decades of built-up spell residue, but nothing extraordinary. Certainly nothing malicious or patently demonic; nothing left behind by Asmodeus or Azazel or any other demon summoned into Magnus’ home.

“Magnus?” Alec’s voice echoes from the direction of the front door just before it clicks shut, and Magnus turns from where he’s tracing sigils onto the wall in time to see Alec walk into view, looking surprised and confused. “Lorenzo?”

The entire apartment is lit up with magic, every object and defined boundary outlined by spellwork, a haze around the glyphs serving as focus points in each room. The air is so thick with it that Magnus nearly has to squint when he looks at the lighting fixtures and appliances, the power conduits and plumbing that run like veins behind the walls.

In the center of it all, Alec glows.

Not with the blue of Magnus’ magic, or the less saturated silver-gold of his wards. He isn’t outlined like the furniture or the charmed relics that Magnus really does need to move into storage, or even surrounded by the blanketing sheen of a protective shield.

Caught in Lorenzo’s diagnostic spell, he’s lit up from his core in luminous, radiant white. Magnus can see every rune on his body shining through his clothes like fire, his _parabatai_ rune tinged with soft, muted gold. The alliance rune he has permanently inscribed on his skin shimmers like an oil slick, an iridescent rainbow catching the light. Magnus can see Seelie magic in it as well as his own, and the pale yellow fire of Lorenzo’s.

Magnus stares.

“Well, I believe we’ve answered your question,” Lorenzo says, breaking the silence. “This isn’t an issue with the apartment.”

“Is there a problem? Sorry, I didn’t know Magnus had company.” Alec pauses only for a fraction of a second before he offers, “Lorenzo, will you stay for dinner?”

“No, I was just leaving, but I look forward to seeing you at the next cabinet meeting. The vase?” Lorenzo prompts, looking to Magnus. He points without looking toward a side table, and Lorenzo makes a pleased sound as he spots it and goes to collect his payment.

Magnus wants to tell him _you can’t just leave me with this, you’re the High Warlock_ , but this isn’t a problem caused by demonic magic, and he doesn’t honestly want Lorenzo to stay for whatever conversation they’re about to have.

Alec is frowning now, watching Lorenzo show himself out. He looks as though he’s about to speak up again, to hold Lorenzo back or make another offer for him to stay, but then he looks back at Magnus, and whatever expression is on Magnus’ face stops him.

Magnus raises his hands to bring down the elegant tracery of spellwork all around them, and hesitates. Alec can’t see any of it, as he isn’t directly tied into the spellcasting. Magnus still feels strangely unwilling to douse the light that’s shining out of him, turning him incandescent.

“Magnus, what’s going on?” Before he can answer, Alec adds, “And if you wanted me to believe you were having a casual pottery chat with Lorenzo, you shouldn’t have chalked glyphs all over the walls.” Magnus supposes that is something of a giveaway. Alec walks over and stops in front of him, searching Magnus’ face. “Talk to me?”

 _I might be giving you magical radiation poisoning_ isn’t the best opening Magnus has ever come up with, and it isn’t really true. Whatever it is that’s lighting him up from the inside, it’s clearly coming from Alec.

Alec, who shares strength and energy and intimacy without reservation; who’d bound himself to a warlock so he could walk into Edom with magic at his fingertips; who spends time with the angelic core because he finds peace there.

Alec, who Magnus’ apartment has decided deserves hot water for showers in the morning, and a phone ringtone that makes him smile, and his own kitchen where he can experiment with breakfast foods and terrible stews.

Magnus may have provided the catalyst, but just like with his apartment, what becomes of that magic is entirely out of his control. It’s part of Alec now.

Magnus calls up a tiny blue globe and holds it over his palm. It’s raw magic without intent; a seed from which anything can grow. When he reaches out with it, Alec lifts his own startled hands to mirror him, and Magnus gently tips the magic into his palms. It floats in the circle of his cupped hands, and Magnus draws in a slow breath before pinching his fingers closed and severing his connection to it.

The ball of magic stays in Alec’s hands. As Alec looks up to meet his eyes, it slowly pales into crackling silver-white.

“Magnus...” Alec stares down at the magic he has cradled in his hands. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Magnus laughs, unexpected and suddenly delighted. “I have no idea,” he says honestly, captivated by the look on Alec’s face. “But we’ll figure it out.”

He lifts his own hands beneath Alec’s, holding them in his, and as he watches, some of the soft white glow that’s either Alec or the magic seed or both spreads around his hands, encompassing him. Alec looks up at him with questions written all over his face, but there’s also trust there, and wonder. Magnus realizes when their eyes meet just how deeply he believes this is a part of him that will be safe in Alec’s care.

“Well,” Magnus says, dazed. “They do say marriage is the greatest adventure.”


End file.
